


The Crimson Raider Reporting

by ccaaii, SimulatedStars, snufflyphoenix



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Basically this is set in New York in the 20s if you couldn't tell, Forensics, Gen, Newspapers, Other, Police, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccaaii/pseuds/ccaaii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimulatedStars/pseuds/SimulatedStars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snufflyphoenix/pseuds/snufflyphoenix
Summary: New York City; 1923.There's a crackdown on vice and Roland and Mordecai, two reporters for The Crimson Raider, are convinced the Deputy Chief of Police behind it is in fact Handsome Jack, notorious gang leader of Hyperion. Across town Maya, a policewoman working under Deputy Chief Johnson, has the same theory. Gaige is a young anarchist who is friends with the Deputy Chief's daughter who ends up in way over her head. They end up allying with The Firehawk and The Slab King to take down Handsome Jack, hoping to expose Johnson in the process.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say clearly early on that while this chapter itself isn't particularly graphic, this is a story about vice and gang warfare in the twenties so you can expect what that entails. Tags will be added as they appear in the story.

**May 7th, 1923**

The clock on the wall struck 9pm at the offices of The Crimson Raider. The building was quiet, blinds had been drawn and offices were empty. The only people still in were people rushing to meet deadlines and people digging for a lead. Roland and Mordecai fell into the latter category. The remainder of the office’s occupants were up to their eyes in speculation and police reports. 

Roland looked up from his desk at the sound of a door down the corridor slamming shut. It had gotten dark around him and he’d barely noticed, the light of his desk lamp illuminating the pages he had out in front of him. Photos on top of data sheets on top of files - to anyone else it would look like chaos but his system was precise and, if required, he could find anything he needed in a second. He knew he was close to something. He just wasn’t sure what yet.

“Find anything?”

He looked up to see Mordecai backing through the door, a cup of coffee in each hand.

“I’m working on it.” 

“Damn. When you said you were onto something, I thought you meant we’d be going home tonight.” Mordecai put down the mugs and pulled a chair over, squinting at the sheet of numbers Roland had in his hand.

“You can go, you know,” Roland said, glancing at him, “but if there’s a chance of you making any sense of this, your help would be useful.”

“As if I’d let you get all the credit for catching this slippery bastard.” Mordecai snorted, looking closer at the numbers. “What is this, outgoings?”

“Mm.” Roland murmured his confirmation, taking a sip of his coffee. “Something just seems off about them.”

“Not even going to ask where you got this,” he muttered, frowning, “but it seems to all add up. What’s the problem?”

Roland set the mug down and ran a hand across his face. “Where is a deputy chief of police getting all this money from? Sure, they earn good money but this much? Doesn’t that seem off to you?” 

“Property, right? Johnson has investments.” 

“But the start-up capital must have come from somewhere.” 

“I’d say family money but,” Mordecai shook his head and took a long drink from his mug, “the fucker never stops going on about how he’s worked his way up through the ranks. People with money don’t work their way up.”

“Boys.” A reprimanding tone came from the doorway and both men looked up. Alistair Hammerlock stood, satchel across his body and eyebrow raised. “Do tell me you aren’t still here because of that wild goose chase.”

Mordecai cast a glance to Roland. “We aren’t still here because of that wild goose chase.”

Hammerlock’s eyebrow rose further. “Are you lying to me?”

“You told me to,” Mordecai muttered into his coffee mug, ignoring the nudge in the ribs from Roland.

“We’re close to something, Alistair, I know we are,” Roland insisted, determination plain on his face as he looked at his supervisor. “We just need to figure out what we’re close to.” 

Hammerlock sighed, pushing his glasses further up his nose with his shoulder. “Forgive me but those two things seem to contradict each other somewhat. I know you don’t like Deputy Chief Johnson-”

“That’s an understatement.”

“-but,” he shot Mordecai a look, “this is verging on insanity. Johnson is not doing anything wrong - he’s a high ranking police officer. I know, I know,” he said at the look Roland gave him, “but the man hasn’t done anything - his whole spiel is about cracking down on vice. Find me solid evidence and I’ll look at it again but you find it on your own time. We have a paper to keep in print.”

“Of course but if there’s a story here, don’t we have a responsibility to tell it-” Roland began but he was cut off.

“Yes. _If_ , and only if, there is actually a story.” Hammerlock shook his head, turning to go. “Just don’t go down some rabbit hole about Johnson being Handsome Jack or something equally ludicrous before tomorrow morning, I have a press conference I’m sending you both to and I need you on your best behaviour.” 

As the uneven sound of Hammerlock’s footfalls and walking stick slowly faded down the corridor, Roland turned in his chair to face Mordecai. “Handsome Jack.” 

“Hm?” 

“Handsome Jack would have access to that kind of money.” 

“Yeah because he’s a mob boss, do not tell me you’re going where I think you’re going with this.” Mordecai eyed Roland warily. 

“Why not?” Roland began to flick through the papers on his desk, his brow creased. “It would be the perfect cover, wouldn’t it? Cop against vice by day, boss of Hyperion by night.”

“You’ve lost it. You’ve finally cracked.” Mordecai just stared at him. “Go home, you need to sleep. We can get back to this tomorrow.”

“No, no. Listen,” Roland said, a hint of urgency in his voice as he found the document he had been looking for, “so Johnson makes his money in real estate, right? What if he’s funding his investments with dirty money?” 

Mordecai frowned at the accounting sheet again then to the page Roland was holding. “That would explain how he gets the money but it’s a leap. What would he be doing to get it?”

Roland deflated slightly, sitting back in his chair. “I don’t know. Fuck.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I sound cracked, let’s just come back to this tomorrow.” He went to stand up and put his blazer on.

“Wait a second.” 

Roland paused in straightening his lapel. “Hm?”

“Okay, bear with me..” Mordecai said, still frowning at the purchase information. “You see this place - he brought it for a song,” he underlined the property on the list, “and these as well.” He added, pointing to a couple more he tracked his pen down the list. “Then here he sells the building… For four times what he paid for it.”

Roland sat up a little straighter. “Okay, I wasn't looking at his incomings, what happened? Why the jump in price?” 

“Violence in the area went down, Bobby “The Baron” Flynt got arrested.” He pulled a map of the city towards him and drew a circle round the district.

“So he bought property cheaply, got rid of the violence that made it cheap then sold it at a profit?” Roland frowned. “Can he do that?”

“I don't know, I suppose his reasons for reducing crime don't really matter.”

“I expect he wouldn't like it getting out he was doing it for personal profit, not the good of the city though,” Roland muttered. “So he knows where crime is going to reduce and property prices go up cause he's the one reducing the crime? That’s sure fire profit.”

“Right, but here this place,” he marks another property on the map, “same thing but this gang didn't get arrested.”

“Sledge’s Hammers? Yeah, they were all killed last year. Awful shoot out.”

“I believe we ran with ‘massacre’.” 

“Got to sell copies somehow,” Roland commented. “Are you suggesting he knew this was going to happen?” 

Mordecai sat back in his chair with a sigh. “I don't know. Like you said, he seems to go for the sure thing.”

Roland glanced at him. “The other gang involved in that shoot out was Hyperion, Jack's gang.”

Mordecai nodded and pointed back at the first area he'd circled. “You know who runs all the rackets and gambling here since Flynt’s gang was arrested?”

Roland blinked. “Also Hyperion.”

“Could be nothing,” Mordecai said carefully, noting the light in his eye.

“Hell of a coincidence though.”

“Doesn't mean he's Handsome Jack either.”

“But if he’s collaborating with gangsters…” Roland grinned, “puts a dent in the ‘Hero Against Vice’ image, doesn't it? We have to go through the rest of the properties, see if he benefits from other Hyperion take-overs or if they benefit from arrests he makes.”

“What, tonight?” 

“No time like the present.” Roland said happily.

Mordecai groaned. “I should have kept my mouth shut, I wanted to sleep.”

Roland raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“Sure. Then why did you get us coffee?”

 

“Why am I not surprised to find you both here?”

Roland grunted awake, blinking blearily up at Hammerlock. The older man shook his head and sighed as Roland sat up, straightening his shirt as he tapped the still sleeping Mordecai on the shoulder. 

“Sir, look at these maps, we have--” Roland started before stifling a yawn, “--some leads, if we could get an hour or two to go and talk to-”

“You can have an hour to go home, have some food and change your shirts. Both of you.” He said, stacking the empty coffee mugs. “You boys will end up dead before you have a chance to keep ignoring your editor in favour of your own story if you carry on like this - I can’t remember the last time I was the last person out the office and the first person in.” 

“You can’t say we don’t work hard though, Alistair.” Mordecai groaned as he stretched.

“If only your assignments could create this much resolve.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Go home, shave, change your shirts and get some food. I expect to see you both this afternoon at the town hall for Deputy Johnson’s press conference. Just… be there.”

“Will you at least hear us out if we go home first?” Roland bargained, standing.

“I’ll think about it. _If_ you have a story.”

“We _do_ , if you’d just--”

“Roland.”

“Sir?”

“Sleep.”

 

“Bye, Dad! Give Mum a kiss from me when she gets in!” 

Gaige shut the door behind her and headed down the stoop of her building, calling a greeting to a neighbour as she went. It was a warm day, the sticky heat of New York having made it impossible to concentrate in school, and she was glad to be out once again. Though there was little breeze, it was better than being inside. 

Rounding the corner to Angel’s house, she snuffed her cigarette out on the pavement with her toe and let herself inside. Kicking her shoes off, she headed upstairs to Angel’s room and threw herself down on her friend’s bed. “I need you to cut my hair.”

Angel looked up from her book, blinking at her. “I’m sorry?”

“My hair. You need to cut it.” 

“I heard you, I meant - why?” She set the book aside, raising her eyebrows at her friend. 

“Oh!” Gaige sat up, grinning at her. “I went to Scooter’s to see Janey because they’ve got this _amazing_ Bugatti Type 30 in, I have no idea where they got it because it’s just stunning, but then when I got there, Janey’s had her hair cut super short to here,” she gestured to her chin, “but it’s really cool and apparently it’s all the rage in Paris, and I need you to cut my hair like that for me.”

“Gaige, I have no experience cutting hair. Besides, my dad would flip if he found a bunch of your hair in my bin,” Angel pointed out. 

“Why?” Gaige shrugged. “It’s not like it’s _your_ hair - you can blame me! Or I’ll take it with me, sell it to a wig maker or something. That’s probably a better idea. So scratch the bin idea; your dad never needs to know!”

“I am _not_ cutting your hair!” Angel laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I’ll have no part in this.”

“We could do your hair too!” 

“Not a chance. … What are you doing?”

“Looking for your sewing box!” Gaige replied from Angel’s closet, digging around until she found the fabric shears she was after. “Aha!”

“You’re deadly serious, aren’t you?” Angel sighed. “Well, at least don’t stand on the rug. It’ll take ages to get your hair out of it.” 

“You’re sure you won’t help?” Gaige asked, gathering her hair into rough bunches. 

Angel watched on, her expression amused. 

“Yes, I’m sure. But God help you if you blunt my scissors.” 

 

“So I told him it’s ridiculous but the man is hell bent on his theory.” Tannis told Maya as she carefully tweezed a bullet from a wound of the corpse on the table in front of her and dropped it in a jar. “Like you.”

“This is the reporter from the Crimson Raider?” Maya snorted, wrinkling her nose as the bullet came free. “He’s a pain in the ass, he’s always here asking questions. I don’t know why you keep each other’s company.”

“He’s useful.” Tannis said vaguely as she peered into the jar then back to the wound. “And I’m the only person willing to talk to him.”

"Yeah because, like I said, he's a pain in the ass." Maya paused. "And I am not like him," she added indignantly.

"Other than thinking Deputy Chief Johnson is up to no good, you mean?" Tannis asked as she jotted something down.

Maya shot her a look. "He only thinks that because Johnson took the credit for that expose on General Knoxx he did a while back. And _I'm_ not quite at the point of accusing him of being Handsome Jack. What would even make him say that?"

"Something about Johnson's bank records." Tannis waved her hand dismissively, going back to the body on the table.

"Well that's - wait, why do they have his bank records?" 

Tannis shrugged. 

“They’re just looking for a story." Maya frowned.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"Working with reporters would get me kicked off the force."

"If you say so."

Maya fell silent for a couple of seconds. "Do you want me to go after this? I know you don't like him either."

"Me?" Tannis asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "I just said you are both as ridiculous as each other. When he told me this it looked like he hadn't slept in 48 hours."

"Hm... could be nothing." Maya muttered.

"I'm all for conspiracies but this one’s too hairbrained even for me. I'd like to stay on the right side of the people who let me cut up bodies without arresting me for it."

"Even if that person is corrupt?" Maya asked.

Tannis went back to her corpse. "You know where to find Roland if you want to talk to him. Come back if you find something I can actually work with."

Maya rolled her eyes. “I’ll prove you wrong.” She called as she headed out the door. 

“Many have tried.” Tannis replied, muttering to herself as the door swung shut behind Maya. “That woman is going to get herself either killed or fired; and I don’t know which would be worse. Still,” she said cheerfully as she picked up her scalpel, “at least they can conspiracy theory at each other now.”

 

Bunch of her hair tucked safely in her pocket, Gaige hugged Angel goodbye and went downstairs to leave. She’d promised her dad she’d be back for dinner and it was starting to get late.

“Just a second, kiddo!”

Gaige turned to smile. “Hi, Mr Johnson! How are you?”

Gaige had mixed feelings about Angel’s dad. On one hand, she knew her friend couldn’t help the fact her dad was a policeman and the fact that he was so high ranking meant they could afford her insulin but on the other, he was a policeman and she knew they would never see eye to eye. 

“Not bad, Pumpkin,” he said and returned the smile from where he sat in the living room. “We made several arrests today, press conference tomorrow - it’s all progress.” He paused and looked at her. “You’ve had a haircut.”

Gaige nodded politely, self consciously tugging at the side she knew was slightly longer than the other. “...Angel said you’d be later than usual this evening.” 

“Well, vice doesn’t sleep, does it?” He chuckled darkly and shook his head. “Listen to me; I sound like a public service announcement. It’s been a long few weeks.” He drew a hand across his face and sighed, looking at Gaige. “Look, I don’t suppose you could do me a favour and drop that letter off at the address on the front on your way home, could you? I’d do it myself but I have to give Angel her shot and-”

“Yeah, not a problem, I’ll do that.” Gaige smiled quickly as she reached for the letter on the side table. It was on the way home anyway, she might as well.

Johnson breathed a sigh of relief and brought his hands together in front of him. “Thank you, you’re a life-saver.”

“No worries.” Gaige attempted to fit the envelope in her pocket, pushing the bundle of hair aside to make it fit. “But I should really run now, Mr Johnson, or my parents’ll worry.”

Johnson nodded and waved his hand. “Go on, then, you don’t want to keep them waiting. And thank you again.”

“It’s no trouble!” She reassured him as she opened the door. “See you soon!”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a work in progress for quite some time but we finally have the first chapter in a state where it's fit to be seen. I will admit this entire thing stemmed from a conversation in the cinema about Moxxi in a flapper dress but now we have a pretty enormous 20s gangster universe that we hope you find as interesting as we do. Thank you for reading and chapter two will be up in the hopefully not too distant future. - SnufflyPhoenix


End file.
